Tales of the Underhive
by OVERLORDOZZ
Summary: The Hive World of Necromunda is home to untold billions of people, and many join the gangs that fight in the sunken passages that leech from under its cities. All I want to do is survive. Which is harder than it sounds, in a galaxy where there is only war.


When most people think about a memorable weekend, they often think about spending time with family, a romantic getaway with a significant other, or just generally having a good time.

I am not most people. And I am most definitely not having a good time.

I ducked as a couple of bullets whizzed past me, missing by inches, and created some lovely new holes in the wall behind me. It was already covered in dozens of similar holes, as was the object I was currently cowering behind. Say what I will about the enemy, they were persistent. If inaccurate.

A brief lull in the fire gave me enough of an opportunity to stick my head, carefully, out of cover and see just what was trying so desperately to tear me to pieces. Three very large, very angry men. All of them were massive, bulging with overdeveloped muscles. Even one of them looked like they could bench-press several times what the average person weighed. Then again, that same weight was probably higher than all three of their IQ's combined.

That didn't mean that they weren't dangerous, if the gunfire that once again peppered my general area was any indication. Luckily, I had a good look at their weapons, so I had a general idea of what was going to kill me. The two currently shooting at me had heavy stubber machine guns. Usually mounted, these ones had somehow fallen into the meaty hands of these testosterone fuelled gym rats. The third, who I assumed was the leader, carried a massive hammer in his right hand, and an autogun in the other. The normally two-handed weapon looked like a toy in his grasp, and the hammer itself probably weighed more than me.

'Hammer man' shouted some orders and abuse, in equal measure, at his subordinates. They responded, by the sound of gunfire getting closer, by moving towards me. Based on the length of corridor that separated us, I deduced that they would reach my position in too small a time frame. And with the amount of stubber rounds flying my way I couldn't move lest I be torn to pieces.

Luckily, in their haste to smear me across the floor, they had forgotten about one thing. Or rather, two things.

I looked to my right and saw one of them. Greta cut an intimidating figure, but one that was also reassuring in this instance. Standing 6'7" tall, she was built like the muscle brained idiots that faced us, but unlike them, she actually used the thing between her ears. Clad in heavy armour that protected her upper torso, but left her rippling, scar riddled stomach muscles on display, she also carried a twin-linked heavy stubber, for twice the firepower. However, even her Astartes-like physique couldn't support the weapon like any other. As such, she had a power-saw handle attached to the top, and she fired it from the hip in a braced position. She needed a moment to set up though, one which would lead to her death, unless supported by her teammate.

Looking over to my left, I saw that Betty was already setting her flamer on standby. Being nearly a foot smaller and fifty pounds lighter than her Greta, Betty relied on speed to take out her enemies. She was also a pyromaniac, hence the flamer. In normal engagements, Greta would lay down covering fire, whilst Betty would close the distance and cook them. Unfortunately, the behemoths had surprised us, and kept us pinned to prevent them using this tactic.

Thinking quickly, I came up with a plan, ever conscious of the gunfire that came ever closer. I used simple hand signals to relay my plan to the pair. When they nodded, I began counting down with my fingers.

3…

2…

1…

Betty sprung from her cover, a gout of burning promethium already spewing from her weapon's nozzle and dousing the surprised idiots in a wall of flame. At the same time, Greta swung out of her cover and swung her barrels round in the direction of the cooking males, bracing her weapon against herself to compensate for the recoil. The dying screams of the meatheads were abruptly cut short as a stream of high calibre bullets tore them into wet, charred chunks.

Taking my cue, I rose from my cover and quickly aimed for the leader. He was still in shock, his tiny brain reeling from seeing his men cut down before him in such a gruesome manner. He didn't even react as I lined up his unprotected head in my sights. A twitch of the finger sent a lasbolt flying into his face, rocking his head back and launching a surprising amount of brains out the back of his skull, splattering them across the corridor.

Relaxing slightly, I basked in the glow of both victory and the steadily burning meat that littered the floor. However more gunfire in the distance broke through the haze and, with a reluctant sigh, I began to walk briskly towards it, noting in the back of my mind the sounds of the other two following me.

So no, my weekends are not normal. But they are memorable, of that there is no doubt.


End file.
